


Broken Strings

by miss_bugaboo (margaret_helstone)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, F/M, More angst, Somehow, but at least they have each other, unhappy kids dealing with rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaret_helstone/pseuds/miss_bugaboo
Summary: Her conflict spreads and swallows her whole, because hell, she was not raised to deal with this kind of situations. Her own world is made of distant mothers and well-mannered friends, of straightforward rules and extensive plans. In her world, there is a scenario for every circumstance, a strategy prepared weeks in advance.She's no good at this improvisation thing and she's well aware of that particular inadequacy of hers.And since nobody ever thought of teaching her how to act around her ex-boyfriend's current's girfriend's ex, it's not surprise she is at a complete loss at what to do now.
Relationships: Luka Couffaine & Kagami Tsurugi, Luka Couffaine/Kagami Tsurugi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Broken Strings

Kagami Tsurugi has never been the one to take things lightly.

It's not in her nature and even if it was, her upbringing sure would have been enough to kill all carelessness that might otherwise be found in her heart. She is the kind to assess the situation quickly and choose on her goals even _quicker_ , always determined not to lose anything to chance. She is a girl who knows what she wants, who doesn't let her own doubts to get in her way because she knows – oh hell, she _knows_ – how fatal may be the consequences of such hesitation.

_"I never hesitate."_

It is her mother who's taught her that, obviously. Everything she's ever learnt (well, _almost_ everything) comes from her mother, the undefeated champion of both her own and her husband's clans. She's the person Kagami has always looked up to – a woman who's approval she's been striving for for as long as she can remember. She's the one who has put it in her head that if she can't win, she may just as well give up altogether, because the second place is no better than the very last one.

_"Only enter the contests you know you can win."_

For the first time in her almost sixteen years long life, Kagami feels like her mother might be right about that.

She can feel the tears well up in her eyes and she blinks rapidly, intent on not letting them fall down on her cheeks. She won't cry over this again; she wont' let anyone see how distressed she truly is. The one breakdown she had last night was enough and no matter what her stupid, naive heart might be screaming at her, falling apart is not what she needs right now.

If she can't maintain her love life then so be it.

She won't throw away her pride with it as well.

And yet, it's still so hard to just shrug her shoulders and move on, and harder still to act noble and supportive, just like she truly wishes to be. It's a new sensation for her, too, the sudden and unexpected urge to step back and make room for someone else to step in to take the place _she'_ has been dreaming of for so long. It's not just her ambition to be a gracious loser anymore; all at once, she wants to be kind just for the kindness' sake and show that she truly meant it when she claimed to be happy for the two of her friends.

She loves them, both of them. In different ways of course, but that doesn't change the fact that she does – that she would do anything for either of them.

Because both Marinette and Adrien mean a world to her.

Or is it a selfish desire after all, because she can't be left behind after Luka's show of grace and simply needs to keep up?

She stifles a groan that rises in her throat and picks up her pace, even though she's perfectly aware that neither of her actions is enough to chase away the thoughts of the blue-haired musician that have already entered her mind. She's not particularly surprised by the fact; he's been bound to make an appearance from the start, what with her thinking the subject over so thoroughly. They're both in this after all, their situations nearly identical, despite their personalities differing so much.

Two fools who let themselves believe they were enough for who they are.

And yet, somehow, she's certain that he's much more successful when it comes to dealing with the aftermath of their idiocy. Not because he doesn't care for Marinette – on the contrary, she's ready to admit that his feelings might run even deeper than hers, and in her eyes, his quiet acceptance of Marinette's choice is the best proof of that.

As inexperienced as she is when it comes to love, it's the one thing she knows:

You must truly love someone to let go of him like that.

Now that she thinks of it, she _is_ a little jealous of him. Of how he's coping with all this. She's seen him a few times since Adrien ended things with her and then a few more after Marinette did the same to Luka; and whenever she did, she saw the same easy smile and eyes filled with peace, his whole body radiating with readiness to just be there for those who needed support.

She thought his behaviour would change after Adrien and Marinette _did_ get together at last a few weeks ago, a little bit at least. She thought the sight of them together would finally make him crack, that his perfect shell would crumble just a little. She sure knows it's something that still gets to _her_ and the fact she still doesn't really know what it was that made those two oblivious children find themselves after all this time (she knew it happened during an akuma attack, but couldn't for the life of her imagine what it had to do with the fact) certainly isn't helpful.

She wants to be happy for them but she's just not.

She wants to keep seeing them and remain friends but it just seems beyond her right now.

She wants to know how on earth Luka manages to do all of it and still smile.

A sigh escapes her lips and this time, she doesn't even feel bad for having let down her guard. She's too tired of all this, of always pretending to be fine but never really feeling like it. Her resolution still stands of course: keep yourself together, stay focused and strict.

But again: it's a mask she wears. A mask is all she can do. For no matter how hard she tries, she can never put a smile on, as well.

Not in the way Luka does.

Yes, she definitely is jealous of him. She has no doubt in her mind now about how courageous he really is under the guise of light-mindedness he wears, quite contrary to what she first thought of him. She wishes she could be as high-minded as he is, wishes she could take the blows with the same good-natured serenity and optimism she always sees reflecting in Luka's countenance. She wishes -

Her train of thoughts crashes as she hears a noise of smashed glass an a yell that follows right after. She stops in her track, surprised and looks around, half-expecting to see another Hawkmoth-possessed villain to come out of a corner any moment now.

Except there are no corners here, and there is no villain either.

Just the straight, grey pavement that runs along the river Seine and a colourful yet lonely boat berthed to one of its banks.

How has she even got here?

She nearly spins around and walks away, dismissing the fact that her legs have brought her to this very specific spot without her even realising that. She calls it a coincidence in her thoughts – or maybe a work of her own subconsciousness, if the former isn't good enough. It's nothing more than that, however and since she has no business whatsoever around the place, she figures it's best to leave the matters to themselves.

It's when the other crash comes.

She knows for sure it's not an akuma's work now as it is clear that all the noises she's heard so far came from the little ship so close to her. She still wants to turn back and leave; she's not close with the Couffaines after all, so barging on the deck is the last thing she could call proper – regardless of it's host's liberal attitude. And yet, she _can't_ leave, not without making sure that whoever is inside is doing alright.

Silently, she prays it's just another one of Kitty Section's stunts.

Yet, the more time passes, the more convinced she is that the band is the last thing she should expect to find on the _Liberty's_ deck; in fact, she begins to suspect that not even Juleka or Anarka are home. If that was the case, she sure would've bumped into on or the other already, or heard the latter shout and run around the place.

Instead, there is silence.

It's deafening.

She takes a step forward, and then another. She continues to take them, until she reaches the narrow stairs that lead under the deck, to where Juleka's and Luka's rooms – _cabins_ – are. Her ears are pricked and her eyes are wide as she searches for a confirmation of her previous guess, wondering still if her decision to come really was a sensible one.

And then she finds him.

He's a mess and she doesn't need a second to fully realise that. It doesn't matter that his back is turned towards him as he shakes, or that he acts ask if he's decided to swallow his own voice, not a single sound escaping him. The way his spine is hunched as he leans against the wall, with his forehead and fists pressed to it as his whole body trembles is enough to tell her everything she needs to know about the extent of his pain – the uneven, sharp inhales she notices next only reassuring her in her initial belief.

And it's so much worse when she realises that she's been right about other things as well, like the absence of the other residence of the boat she'd paid attention to at the start. She knows for sure that Luka is alone now, and that discovery leads her straight to the next, one that is even more painful when she fully comprehends it's extent.

For despite the lack of evidence, there is one thing she has absolutely no doubt about: that the only reason Luka has allowed himself to crumble down like this is because he is convinced there is no one there to witness it. Which then means that he has _never_ shared this burden with anyone – that _no one_ has ever got to see him like this, broken and vulnerable, for once admitting to all the hurt he must have been feeling.

_No one._

Not Juleka, his beloved little sister; not Anarka, his wild yet caring, loving mother.

And certainly _not_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

 _But why_ _ **me**_ _?_ she can't help but wonder, torn between anger and pity, exhaustion and concern. More than ever, she wants to run away, feeling that there is nothing she could do to help while there's an inversely proportional chance of her making it even worse for him, regardless of how hard she might try. She curses the fate that has brought her here, curses her own inattentiveness that had made it possible. Yet at the same time, she still can't picture herself walk away for real, as if it was the worst possible sin.

She _can't_ just leave him now.

Her conflict spreads and swallows her whole, because hell, she was not raised to deal with this kind of situations. Her own world is made of distant mothers and well-mannered friends, of straightforward rules and extensive plans. In her world, there is a scenario for every circumstance, a strategy prepared weeks in advance.

She's no good at this improvisation thing and she's well aware of that particular inadequacy of hers.

It is Marinette who excels at that; she and Adrien, and Alya, and pretty much everyone from the Dupont College she's had a chance to meet so far. _Any_ of them would be a better candidate for comforting Luka now, if only because they know how to show their feelings in the first place.

However, it is her who is physically there, the sole witness to Luka's suffering.

And since nobody ever thought of teaching her how to act around her ex-boyfriend's current's girfriend's ex, it's not surprise she is at a complete loss at what to do now.

She wakes up from her daze at his movement, as small and meaningless as it may seem. She can feel a rush of adrenaline as she watches him stir, unconsciously preparing to flee in case he decided to turn around towards her, even though she is positive that if he does, she won't be able to as much as take a step, and holds her breath, nervous. Luka doesn't turn around though; instead, he loosens his fist and lays his palm against the wall, his nails scratching the wooden surface as if he wanted to dig them in for real.

There are dark bruises all over the side of his hand.

With some difficulty, she tears her gaze away from him and looks around the room, searching for hints as to what else might have happened there. Her eye is caught by the light reflected in a glass, or better said, in what remained of it. It is scattered all over the floor, with stains of water darkening the soft carpet under their feet, though as she notices with relief, there is no sign of blood on any of the pieces.

So at least he hasn't hurt himself with _that_.

It's yet another thing that makes her want to stay or at least, one that makes her believe she shouldn't get away. He still hasn't noticed her, so technically, she _could_ do just that – spin on her heel and flee, pretending not to have seen anything.

However... If she really _does_ leave, what guarantee will she have that he won't do something stupid on his own?

No guarantee, that's what.

She nearly forgets herself enough to let out an annoyed sigh after she's realised that the decision has been made for her a long time ago.

She's not at all happy with it, simply because knows that she's not the right person for the job. She's not the kind to just rush forward and hug people, after all, to soothe them with her words or her touch or whatever it is they might need at the time. She's someone who seeks real solutions to her problems and keeps her own emotions at bay, as for her it is the only way not to fall even lower whenever she _does_ fall.

She's just not capable of stepping into someone else's shoes that easily, even if her own situation is similar to theirs.

And it sure is this time.

Painfully so.

On the other hand, though, it's not like she's still the same impeccably behaved school girl she was when she first showed up at the Dupont College for that memorable fencing contest. That day itself was enough to make her whole attitude waver; getting close with Adrien first and Marinette later only strengthened the effect said event had on her. Little by little, she's changed, and even though the alterations were far from drastic, they are exactly what makes her second guess herself now.

The fact that their trio turned into a quarter at one point was only another step forward, too. She can still remember the first double-dates they had, awkward and disconcerting as they were bound to be. In her mind's eye she sees Luka as he smiles against all odds, acting as if the fact that his newly claimed girlfriend is gazing lovingly at another boy is a perfectly understandable occurrence. Her face contorts with a grimace as she compares the image with what she observes before her, a twinge of pain shooting through her heart when she fully understands the dissonance.

She knows from experience that the harder you try to conceal your wounds, the more likely you are to feel the full hurt.

And yet, even she can't help but be shocked by the sight.

With a sudden determination she makes up her mind to throw away the etiquette and act on her intuition and feelings for once. She's not going to go too far – it's too big of a step for such a short time and Kagami is the last person to underestimate that fact. She knows she's just not capable of running up to him and taking him into her arms, even if she could be sure it's what he both wants and requires right now...

...but she can still meet him halfway.

She takes a deep breath, no longer caring if she gives herself away to him. Luka needs someone by his side; this is something she knows for sure and whatever he might think of her stepping into his personal space – whatever _she_ may think of herself after all of this is over – is of no meaning now. So with the same cautiousness that characterised her step when she first entered his home-ship, she walks over to him, slowly, quietly, like a gentle spirit meant to bring him back to life.

_As swift as lighting, as elusive as a wind..._

Well, that's probably _not_ what her mother had in mind when she told her that.

She shakes her head and pushes the unwanted thought away, intent on focusing on the task at hand. She needs to step carefully, mindful of the shards under her feet; the last thing she needs is to injure herself with one of these.

Then again, that sure would make him wake up from his daze...

With one final stride she finds herself by his side. There is no room for uncertainty as to whether he realises she's there now – she knows that he does, what with his superhuman hearing that has nothing to do with the Miraculous he once wielded. He still doesn't make a move, save for the never ending shudders that keep jolting him, but that's fine. She doesn't need a response, doesn't need a sign. She's not there to see him acknowledge her presence.

He knows she's there and she knows that he does. If he wants her to leave, he'll just say that to her.

He's always been a straightforward kind of guy and that thought alone is enough for her to regain her serenity.

Seconds turn to minutes and Luka is still yet to speak; that too is alright, however, as the girl who stands beside him is probably one of the most patient people in Paris, and not only because of the training Adrien Agreste has put her through before. She knows the meaning of restraint and is aware of how much depends on the timing she chooses for her deeds. Usually, it has to do with her fencing exercises; and yet, she is confident that this current situation is as much of a duel as her practice matches are.

And if she were to choose the more important one, she would have no trouble pointing it out.

_"I never hesitate."_

She's not hesitant. She's expectant. Waiting.

All good things come to those, who wait.

Her moment of truth comes sooner than predicted, though, when Luka decides to make his move after all. It's not about turning towards her; not even about glancing at her, or acknowledging her in any other way. All he does is raise his arm, rapidly, violently, and clearly with the intention to smash it against the wall in the same way he had before she's found him.

She grasps his wrists before he can do it.

He turns towards her now, his eyes wide with disbelief yet at the same time, as hollow as eyes can be. He doesn't try to jerk his arm out of her grip: it has nothing to do with how strong or menacing she is and everything with how utterly shocked he feels.

There are tears on his lashes and wet traces on his cheeks.

The way he looks – the way he looks at _her_ – makes her knees buckle.

She maintains her posture, however and responds to his miserable gaze with her own unwavering glare. She suspects that _warm_ and _consoling_ is the last thing she seems right now and a part of her revolts as she _wants to_ be perceived as such – she wishes to _help_ and not in the cold, methodical manner she's used to herself.

And yet, the other part of her urges her not to give in to that call, because ironically, it's the only way she _can_ help him now.

She will be useless if she falls apart as well.

So just just looks at him, cool and composed, confident and firm. There are no emotions reflecting on her countenance – no trembling chin, no furrowed brow, no indication of what she's thinking at all. Nothing, except the soft, genuine gaze so full of concern, of which she herself isn't aware.

"You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that," she tells him and is surprised by the warmth that has somehow found a way to seep into her voice.

The look Luka gives her indicates that he's just as taken aback; but it doesn't take a second for him to turn away again – resigned, defeated, helpless.

 _Broken_.

Gosh, she wants _shoot_ someone.

"And who cares if I do?" she hears him whisper, his voice barely audible under all of his sorrow.

She squeezes his wrist to make him look back at her. He doesn't, but she still says, "You do. Or you will when you calm down."

She sees him jerk up his head and fix his gaze on the ceiling as a hollow little laugh escapes his throat. Once again, she can feel her legs give in while simultaneously she's fighting the urge to punch the first person that might come into view, praying that her usually iron will is enough not to succumb to either of the baits.

His voice is hoarse when he contradicts her.

"I doubt that," he says and nods at his guitar, now rested against the wall, abandonded. "I don't even know if I'll be still able to play that damn thing again. And even if I do... my fingers will heal long before my mind does. It's the one thing you can be sure of."

"Let's not test that, shall we?"

It's such a simple thing to say but somehow, it works miraculously. She has no idea if it was the wording or her tone, or maybe something else entirely – but it's enough to make him break, once and for all, and right in front of her. He chokes on his breath and stumbles over his words and suddenly he's _in her arms_ , holding onto her for dear life as if she was the only thing worth keeping, and she's _returning the gesture_ because damn, it's the only response she's capable of.

Her own eyes well up with tears, too, and for the first time in her life, she gives up, fully and willingly.

It's the first time she allows herself to cry like this.

And isn't she glad.

* * *

He doesn't know why she came and much less why she's decided to stay. They're not friends, not really, despite the several occasions when they hung out together, back in the days when they still believed their respective love stories might end with anything but disappointment and hurt. He knows she's not one to reach out to people, either, or to spontaneously visit them in their homes without having a good reason and only after asking permission first, so he has no idea why she should enter _his_ house like that – and why she hasn't left the moment she saw what state he was in.

Kagami isn't noisy, in fact, she's the opposite of that.

Then what reason could she have to invade his privacy this time?

He meets her eyes and is awed at the amount of emotion he can observe in them, regardless of the stern, neutral expression she's wearing. He's overwhelmed by the sight, so much that he can't help but look away instantly. He makes his pathetic, whiny excuse; she contradicts it with her rational reply. So he contradicts _her_ , even though his response is, once again, nothing but more complaining on his part. He hates himself for it... Until she answers back and he has no choice but meet her eyes.

The combination of her words, her voice and the look she's giving him is all it takes for him to fall apart, shutter into one hundred million pieces, because unlike all those other times, he finally has someone to put him back together.

She's there because of him.

She's there _for_ him.

She's a good person, a kind person. She's sincere and for once, she's allowing him to see that.

His recognition of her goes further, though the girl in question has no way of knowing that. Trembling in her arms, weak and exposed, he can still hear her own music, and the longer he's staying there, the clearer the melody is. The miserable notes he can distinguish so easily, the false chords so much like the ones that have been playing in his own soul for so long now – it's all there, muffled, silenced, pushed to the darkest corner and covered with a blanket so that nobody else would hear.

So where anyone else would see an indifferent, unfeeling girl, he sees a wounded and yet altruistic human being, ready to step out of her shell and forget her own worries because she can see someone else needing support,

It's not the sort of kindness and care Marinette has, he thinks – it's not as spontaneous or as bright or as heart-warming as hers. Still, it _is_ there, and it's real and somehow...

...somehow, he can't help but think that it may be even worthier because of how obviously difficult it was to obtain.


End file.
